#Because they are an absolute joy

[bonefall]

I am once again giggling like a maniac at Spottedleaf basically calling Redtail directly in starclan (the terminology of which I forgot) to ask what the fuck happened about his murder, and he's TOO BUSY YELLING AT HER to answer the actual questions. Real fucking sibling behavior right there.

The Rose Twins are everything to me ngl.

Their deaths haunt the narrative. They were both in positions of massive authority. One takes life too seriously and the other laughs in the face of oblivion. He desperately wants to keep his children away from her so they don't pick up her habits. She teases him that no cat avoids the doctor forever. He hates she's right. She loves that he hates that she's right. If she needs to sneak out of StarClan she tricks him into making daisy chains. She will break the veil between life and death to speak to him again. He wastes the entire session barking at her about witchcraft. He never rats out her crime to the heavens he's so very loyal to.

They are Bugs Bunny and Daffy Duck if they were siblings, to me. Absolutely in love with them.

[egophiliac]

wait, hold on, I love them

[redwylde]

I have to say I love the consensus by the fandom that Sonic and Silver interactions are just softer than anything.

The unbridled joy of freedom-and-fun-loving Sonic the Hedgehog paired with the unextinguishable hope of a dreamer from a devastated future sharing the wonder they both feel for the world around them is just so pure.

There's just something about Silver seeing the clear, blue sky in Sonic and Sonic being reminded why he loves life and the world through Silver finding joy in mundane and yet new and wonderful things.

[thefirstknife]

Some lore tabs that killed me dead and I'll never recover from them. Seasonal gauntlets are about Zavala realising and coming to terms with the fact that he is mortal and has mortal pains. Also, finally, the full confirmation that Guardians resume aging when they lose their Light:

He moved his chair back and considered his knee. What had he done to hurt it? He had not exercised yet, he had not gone on his usual patrol… he had done nothing. Why would a knee hurt from doing nothing? The riddle dissolved. He was starting to age.

But also:

He allows a hand to rest on his aching knee. To venerate it. He feels it solid under his palm. It is his, it is real, it is both portentous and precious. He is aging. He will age. An absurd and joyous thought warms in his chest: how fortunate, to have lived long enough to grow old. How invaluable, to make the space between himself and the horizon matter. How much time is left? And is it best spent with his knees under a desk?

Genuinely crying over this. How fortunate to live long enough to grow old. Man. Also at the end he asks for a break for one week and Ikora offers him two weeks.

The next one just... I have no words. It has to be read in full. It's about Saint going through it, having memories of his past and also dealing with the guilt with what's happening to Mithrax. Truly every sentence in this one is a gutpunch all the way to the end. Excerpts:

The hum of activity was overpowering yet reassuring to Saint-14 as he stopped to watch an older Eliksni expertly weave fabric on a well-worn loom. The woven symbols were unique and unfamiliar to the Exo, but he watched in awe as an iridescent glow emerged within the vibrant cerulean cloth. Fit for a Kell, Saint mused to himself— Breath caught in his throat; hands shook— Flashes of memory echoed in his mind. All he could feel in this moment… was shame.

Saint remembering his crimes against the Eliksni and feeling shame.

He hurried past the weaver and through the crowd, landing squarely in front of a tea stand, a sample placed in his hand before he could open his mouth to refuse. He looked down. The opaque liquid steamed in his cup, pungent and medicinal. Like distilled Darkness, Saint realized— Breath caught in his throat; hands shook— Flashes of memory filled his sight. All he could feel in this moment… was sadness.

Tea reminded him of all the stuff with Osiris and he is not processing it well. I say excerpts but I have to put the rest entirely because like. Okay.

Saint placed his favorite keepsake, a small stuffed bear, on the Kell's throne. Gently, he adjusted the lavender ribbon at its neck; the crisp satin sat in stark contrast to the bear's hazy black eyes, to its slightly worn ear and well-loved fur. A gift, once a comfort to a child of the City. A gift, once a comfort to Saint in the face of loss, in the face of— Breath caught in his throat; hands shook— Flashes of memory swelled in his heart. Osiris. His strong laugh. His deep, soulful eyes. The warmth of his smile. Of his touch. Memories of comfort, but all he could feel in this moment… was guilt. Intense and overwhelming, like daggers cutting through him, sharpness bleeding through sweetness. Saint breathed deeply and stared at the medical equipment around the empty throne before him. "The cost of my joy," Saint whispered, and he wept.

He has a teddy bear. He once gave it to a child, but someone returned it to him when he was grieving about Osiris, to comfort him, and he'd kept it. And he put it on Mithrax's throne because he feels guilt that Mithrax is suffering because he helped him and Osiris.

I'm ending it all.

[loadingbnha]

THE MOMENT NAOMASA REALIZED THE EXTENT OF WHO ALL MIGHT ACTUALLY IS

For refrence; a side by side comparison of how Naomasa knows All Might vs how Toshinori is when he actually lets loose

[visualtaehyun]

Okay i'm in my feels now!! I mean I Have Been the entire day, watching New's concert but-

I've been following NuNew and ZNN for almost two entire years now and I've seen them both grow as artists, people, and in their relationship with the fans and how much and what they choose to share with us. If you don't follow them at all or not much, this might not hit you the same way as it did me but let me try to explain.

P'Zee is the type of person who constantly seems on the verge of yelling out his feelings because he can't contain them. He's mostly the one who's slowly been spilling small details of their private relationship to fans and the public, almost soft launching, really.

I will never move on from the closing scene & last kiss scene in Cutie Pie because P'Zee suggested it himself, he really wanted a scene to publicly show affection and express love:

So today, when I heard him say he's been wanting to do this for a long time and I saw New get nervous, I immediately got the same brand of nervous that I always get when coming out to people. I don't know if it's just me who felt like this was momentous but here it is in full, translations by me below the clip:

Z: Well... one thing that I've been wanting to do for a long time.

NN: Hm?

Z: That [I've? we've?] never done anywhere before, that you said is giving encouragement and expressing love. I also think that's what it is.

NN: Do what?

Z: And I'm a person who has to ask first, like, [I] can't just go right in.

NN: ...

Z: 🫴 Can [I] (sniff) kiss [you]? *NN starts crying here 🥺* 🫂 Hm? Just now you said you wouldn't cry. [You] did so well! 🫂 Mh! 💋 [You] did so well! (×2) (keeps comforting and praising him softly) Why are you crying? Hm? Tissues-

NN: Crying again...

Z: Crying again.

NN: Why am [I] such a crybaby!

Z: [I] don't see it being a big deal. ... Isn't he talented, everyone?

🗣: He is!

Z: Please be his encouragement as I am as well! Today you did it. You did- in my opinion, you've achieved such a success. And you should be happy for yourself. [I] believe that everyone is super happy for you, as well.

NN: Thank you.

Z: This time I won't be stealing the tissues. (referring to day1 lol)

NN: 😸

[overdressedcarp]

One thing I think about sometimes is that there's a dialogue chain in one of Ratio's text messages where he sends us the blueprints for what he explicitly describes as "an anti-planetary weapon design that [he] once devised," which apparently comes with the potential to turn into a full-on gundam???? He says that the necessary materials haven't been developed yet, but that the Guild is working on it and should have results within the next five Amber Eras.

For those who've read his third character story, the phrasing of "anti-planetary weapon" should register as both familiar and odd, especially considering how blasé he is in describing it to the Trailblazer.

My read on the character story is that the creation of the anti-planetary weapon was (whether consciously or not) a compromise to his principles in pursuit of Nous's gaze, and that the IPC's interest in said weapon was his reality check that he didn't want to become the sort of person who pursued knowledge without regard for human life. Even if you don't take that reading, Ratio is more than smart enough to recognize that the IPC can and has used threats like the Antimatter Legion and the Swarm as excuses to develop and unleash weapons with galaxy-scale collateral damage. (See: the Imaginary pulse weapon in this side quest on Penacony.)

When we ask for a weapon for the Express, Ratio tells us that high-caliber armaments are a necessity for traversing the cosmos, which isn't exactly wrong in light of how we deal with Sunday in Penacony, but turning the train into a battering ram is a far cry from turning it into something that could destroy a planet. The fact that the projected timeline is on a scale of Amber Eras suggests to me that he's being at least somewhat facetious about the idea of a collaboration, especially since the whole reason we're having the conversation is that he wanted us to lob thought experiments at him to distract him from work stress. But he does send us a blueprint file, and the terminology of an "anti-planetary weapon" (specifically one he designed in the past, rather than at our request) feels way too specific to be a coincidence.

I have a pet theory that the gundam design is a form of malicious compliance toward the IPC, and the reason the Guild can't even figure out the materials is because he deliberately handed them a nightmare monstrosity of a blueprint and then refused to elaborate.

(The bill of materials casually demands components that break the laws of physics. There are whole pages of math so complicated no one can parse enough of it to conclusively prove that it's bullshit and not just the revolutionary innovations of a man five Amber Eras ahead of his time. The research team sends a terrified intern to ask if the orbital laser cannon really needs to turn into a humanoid assault mech. He shakes his head and tells them that if they truly understood his work then they wouldn't ask such pointless questions.)

[kacievvbbbb]

Rewatching Gumball is knowing that while there is no actual real overarching plot the episodes are still so amazingly interconnected.

I love how they do foreshadowing, how they build on little moments that we see through out other episodes. It's Banana joe's mom's future paintings being a small joke in "The Shell". Rob being in the deleted place with all the forgotten things in "The Void" after we see that Gumball and Darwin have a hard time remembering him and then completely forget him once Darwin kicks him into the sewers a whole season earlier in "The Pony". He then literally still has parts of the void ingrained in his design when he comes back. It's the fact that Penny and her family being hollow shells with something inside was being played as haunting jokes for episodes before the one based entirely around it. It's the fact that characters like Sarah have always been a little fourth wall breaky and so an episode like "The Fan Fiction" is so completely in line with her character that it's unremarkable in context, hell there's an episode where she sings the ending song to end the show and avoid an awkward conversation her being able to take some control of the show feels like the natural evolution of that.

The background characters in gumball have such distinct personalities that have been pretty consistent and built upon since season 2 which is completely insane and unprecedented for an episodic 2010 children's cartoon. The show might not have had an arc but it has always been continuous.

You do really get the sense that this is a world where everyone is very hyper-aware of the rules in which they operate. The show might reset at the end of the episode but the people don't

[guzhufuren]

VegasPete + petplay text posts for @petesbubblebutt (pt. 33/35)

bonus:

[waitineedaname]

I love that the best emotional acting when it comes to facial expressions comes from Lan Wangji (microexpressions) and Jiang Cheng (macroexpressions). Lan Wangji doesn't emote much but when you're keyed in, the tiny little changes in his facial expression are Devastating. Meanwhile Jiang Cheng is feeling Every Emotion, All The Time, and you are going to see it on every inch of his face. He'll go through twenty different expressions in the same amount of seconds and that face journey will be but a brief glimpse into the awful emotional rollercoaster that is Jiang Cheng's life

[moeblob]

You literally spent three hours having an ENTIRE SCHOOL (teachers included) slut-shaming a guy just for him to be a (spoiler).

[tengo-sentimientos-saben]

We will have more Gabenath!

Gabenath is not dead.

[kelocitta]

"But if we dont get reblogs and likes than why bother creating at all" Did you never doodle in your notebook in class. Did you never have a notebook of cringe doodles you never wanted people to see but got filled anyway. Was this never something you did because it was a tool of personal comfort.

[independent-fics]

Leverage (2008-2012)

01x04 The Snow Job

[the-kipsabian]

[tathrin]

An Elvish Lure

Somebody said “using yourself as bait” and my brain spat this disconnected snippet out, so: enjoy a scene in which the Three Hunters try an alternate plan by which to catch-up with the orcs and free Merry and Pippin.

"No," Gimli said.

"Gimli—"

"No," he said again, shaking his head hard enough to make the braids of his beard slap against his shoulders. "No, absolutely not."

"Gimli," Aragorn tried again, "this plan is our best chance to—"

"I said no!" Gimli roared. "I will not have it! Aragorn, I will not!"

It was not Aragorn who answered him. "Gimli, be calm." 

Gimli squeezed his eyes shut at that voice, as though he could shut-out the words as easily as he did the sight of the narrow, beardless lips from which they had issues; that golden head; those mithril-bright eyes. Fingers as long and spindly as bare twigs closed on his shoulder, their grip tight enough that he could feel it even through his shirt of mail.

"This is our best chance to save Merry and Pippin," Legolas said. "Perhaps our only chance. Gimli, I am not afraid—"

"Can I not be afraid for you, then?" Gimli asked wildly, grabbing those long fingers and holding them tight. He looked up at Legolas, then very quickly closed his eyes again. He pressed the archer's captured hand to his cheek and held it there, as though he might hold the elf back from this reckless plan as easily. "Orcs hate elves so much, Legolas…"

"That is why it has a chance of working," Legolas said. He sounded so unbearably calm, his woodland accent giving his speech the lilting cant of birdsong. He had sounded so strange to Gimli's ears, once. When had that fair voice stopped sounding strange?

"And if it does?" Gimli retorted. His grip on Legolas's hand tightened. "When it does? What then, Legolas?"

Legolas's narrow shoulders lifted in a shrug. "Then we will fight them."

"Then you will fight them, all alone, until we can come to your aid," Gimli corrected him. "Legolas…" His voice failed him and he had to clear his throat twice before he could force the words out. "Legolas, what if we come too late?"

"It is a risk I am prepared to face," Legolas said simply. "And at any rate, Gimli, I do not believe you will. I have more faith in you and Aragorn both than to let myself fear that I will have to face all the orcs alone. And besides!" he continued with a sudden, fey laugh. "Should it not be the orcs who should fear to face my blade and bow? I slew many of their fellows at Amon Hen, and I will slay many more in these sweet green fields if they will but do me the favor of coming within range of my arrows!"

Gimli looked up at the laughing elf in sad, silent horror.

"We will not have to hide ourselves so far away from Legolas that he will be alone for long," Aragorn said, stepping forward to lay his hand on Gimli's other shoulder, the one that did not burn yet with the memory of Legolas's touch upon his mail. "Orcs are keen of smell, but their eyes are not so sharp in daylight, and their ears will have a hard time hearing anything over the thunder of their own feet upon these plains. Besides, Gimli, we have the cloaks given us by the Lady of Lórien; was it not said that they would help to hide us from unfriendly eyes?"

"It was," Gimli agreed heavily. "But these orcs are fast. And what if they have archers among them?"

"What of it?" Legolas shrugged again, scoffing. "I do not fear crude orcish arrows."

"A crude arrow can kill as readily as a finely-wrought one," Gimli reminded him.

Legolas tossed his head, his golden braids rippling in the dawn. "Only if they strike their target."

Gimli gaped at him in exasperation. "Legolas—"

"No, Gimli, I do not ask you to like this plan, but please. Are we not friends now?" Legolas dropped abruptly to his knees in the soft grass, a position which put his eyes nearly on the same level as the dwarf's. It was Legolas who looked up at him now, his pale eyes glittering as sharply as a sword. "Then please, my friend, cast aside your doubts. Trust me to do this."

"I do trust you, Legolas," Gimli responded automatically. "I do not doubt you. But—"

"Then it is settled." Legolas made to stand, to turn away, but Gimli caught him by the arm and held him still.

"But," Gimli said, his voice a stony growl, "I do not like the idea of you making yourself bait for orcs."

Legolas swiveled on his heels, elvish grace keeping him upright despite the sharp tug of a strong dwarven arm yanking him off balance, and stared up at Gimli. The smile he gave the dwarf was small and fleeting, and there was a heavy sadness in the curve of it that reminded Gimli, suddenly and painfully, of the grey woods of Lothlórien.

"I do not say that I like it either, Gimli," Legolas said softly. "But we cannot outrun the orcs. If they cannot be made to pause their march, they will vanish into Isengard with Merry and Pippin and all chance of saving our friends will be lost." He pressed his free hand to Gimli's cheek and gently stroked the downy hairs there. "I would risk a thousand such dangers for the chance to stop that foul fate from befalling those dear young Hobbits—and I know you would, too, Gimli."

Gimli swallowed, but the aching lump in his throat did not dissipate. "Legolas…"

"The fact that the orcs left the field of battle while the three of us yet lived worries my heart greatly," Aragorn said. His voice, too, was quiet, but a dark tension thrummed through his words like the warning rumble of stone on the brink of a cave-in. "That they put their need to carry away their captives over their desire for slaughter and torment…that worries me, Gimli. Worries me greatly."

Aragorn did not have the keen eyes of the elves, but his sharp grey gaze rose over the plains nonetheless and he stared off into the distance as though staring at the shadows of that terrible band of orcs nonetheless. "I do not know if even this will cause them to turn aside from their path…but if anything will entice them to delay their task, it will be the chance to make sport of a lone and injured elf."

"And so I shall play the bait," Legolas said, before he sprang to his feet, the movement too fast this time for Gimli to stop. He looked down and offered Gimli a fleeting, knifblade smile and declared, "And we Three Hunters will see if we can draw the hunt to us!"

Gimli should have cheered; the words were spoken in the sort of tone that rallied hearts and lifted spirits blazing into battle. But all Gimli could see in his mind was the terrible sight of Legolas left standing all alone, waiting for the orcs to come and find him while his friends hid and watched from safety.

"Legolas…"

"Peace." Elvish fingers pressed against Gimli's lips, stopping his words but not his fears. "Give me this chance, Gimli, and I will turn your doubts aside."

"I do not doubt you—" Gimli started to say again, his voice thick and strangled with the heavy feelings of his heart, but Legolas was already springing away, up the short and stony hillock. Gimli watched him go, his steps as light and swift as the flutter of butterfly wings.

"I do not doubt you, Legolas," he said, the words spoken now in a whisper so low that even elvish ears might struggle to hear them now. "But I fear for you."

Aragorn's hand closed on his shoulder again, warm and steady and lacking the silver-fire touch of Legolas's smooth brown skin. "Come," he said softly. "Let us get under cover, Gimli."

Gimli allowed himself to be drawn away, but his feet scuffed heavily on the uneven grass as he turned to stare behind him at the silhouette of Legolas standing tall and thin against the dawn, pale cloak and golden hair streaming out behind him. He made a fine target for arches up there, Gimli thought sourly; a fine target indeed.

Legolas drew his white knife, and Gimli turned away. He knew that the scent of elvish blood would be needed to draw the orcs' attention; knew further that only with the wind blowing strong and swift towards their quarry did this mad plan have any chance of success, and so he cursed the breeze. Had it only died or shifted, Aragorn and Legolas would have been forced to give up this chance; would have had no choice but to simply run instead, run until they dropped perhaps and even yet fail—but run together, rather than risking Legolas's life alone.

Gimli could not bear to watch Legolas take his blade to his own arm, spill his own blood, to lend verisimilitude to his role as bait; yet he fancied he could hear the sharp glide of knife over skin nonetheless, and he squeezed his eyes shut tight and let Aragorn lead him, stumbling, to the hollow in which they would hide together while Legolas stood out there, tempting danger, alone.

They huddled in their grey cloaks, hands on weapons and breath in their throats, and waited.

And then—and then Legolas screamed.

Gimli started upright, his own breath drawing in for an answering cry of rage and vengeance, but Aragorn grabbed his arms and held him fast. "No, Gimli!" he hissed, hauling the dwarf down bodily back into the small depression in the earth. "No, he is not hurt. This is the lure, Gimli! This is the plan. Be still!"

Gimli let himself be drawn back despite the thundering of his heart against his ribs. He pressed one bare palm against the earth, trying to draw strength from the touch of stone against his skin; trying to find the endurance for which the dwarves were so renowned. But he could not stop trembling; could not stop hearing the echoes of that terrible shrill scream inside his ears.

"I have never heard such a cry, Aragorn," he whispered.

Aragorn's grip on his arm tightened. "I have," he said. His voice was low, almost haunted in the shadows of their hiding-hole. "I am sure Legolas has as well, for his people have long fought the Shadow in Mirkwood—and," Aragorn added, swallowing hard as though against some terrible memory, "he could not have sounded so convincing, if he did not know the sound of an elf in torment."

Gimli's gut twisted and he bit his lip hard enough that he tasted a coppery spill of blood across his tongue. "I would that he did not know it," Gimli said hoarsely. He glared up at Aragorn and added in a sharp voice, "I would even more that he should never experience it himself."

"We are not far," Aragorn insisted. "If the orcs take the bait, we will know it; we are near enough to help. He will not stand alone."

"Not for long," Gimli muttered, "but perhaps for long enough." He held his axe very tightly and wished for a whole host of doughty dwarven warriors at his side—or better, at Legolas's side.

Another cry rose, more warbling than the first piercing shriek; more plaintive, like the screamer was weakening.

Gimli's grip on the haft of his axe tightened until his hand ached. "Aragorn…"

"He is not hurt, Gimli."

"Not yet."

Aragorn had no answer for that.

They sat in silence, straining their ears for the pounding thunder of orcish feet upon the earth; waiting to discover if the enemy would take the bait.

Waiting to learn if the three of them would live through it, if they did.

{read more gimleaf stories here}